


leave your lights on for me

by Kiseia



Category: Convergence (DCU Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Cuddling, Fluff, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jason and Roy argue over pasta, Jealousy, Kyle Rayner coming to terms with his bisexual crisis, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pining, Polyamory, Some angst, Threesome - M/M/M, UST, implied Joyfire, some descriptions of burns, someone help Kyle he's so confused, this is the most unapologetically fluffy thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 05:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21156734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiseia/pseuds/Kiseia
Summary: "Wait." Kyle raises his hand. "Am I included in this 'we'?"--Jason and Roy are close. Kyle is maybe a bit too invested in figuring outhowclose they are.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... I started this with vague notions that it was going to be a short pwp oneshot because I wanted to take a break from a longer work I was working on.
> 
> As you can see, things have rapidly spun very... very. Out of hand. And now this is the longer work. Oops.

"Sorry," Roy tells them when he pops his head out of his basement workshop. "Don't mind me. Didn't mean to interrupt your date.

"It's not a date." Kyle frowns, craning his neck to look at him over the arm of the couch.

Roy makes a low, skeptical sound, and Kyle is suddenly very aware that he's sprawled out on the couch right now with his head lying on the dense cushions of Jason's lap. "It's _not,"_ he defends, scrambling to sit up. "Look, he's not even paying attention to me."

Jason snorts, keeping his eyes on the pages of his book. "I hear you loud and clear, Rayner," he says. "I'm just choosing to not respond to your bitching.

"I am not _bitching,"_ he says, affronted.

"Back in my day," Jason begins in a terrible imitation of Kyle's own voice, "I had to walk to space school through the space snow all by myself with my _own_ two feet, with nothing to protect me from the space lions or the space weird tentacle monsters except my _own_ ring and my _own_ ego and my _own_ roguish charm when the tentacles start getting too frisky—"

"For the last time," Kyle says, "there are no Cthulhus in space!"

Somewhere in the background, Roy coughs, obviously stifling a laugh, and the look Jason gives him is almost as good as the time Kyle had told him that his drunk Gotham accent sounds like a shitty New York one. To be clear, Kyle was also drunk at the time. "Alright, you uncultured fuck—"

"And anyways," he barrels on, ignoring Jason's delicate nerd sensibilities. "I never said that the transport trains are a _bad_ thing. I mean, it's training. It's _good._ But none of the aliens get how cool it is to ride in the magic school bus!"

"Of course," Jason mumbles, just loud enough for Kyle to hear. "Of course you had to pick something yellow."

"Okay, one," he says, jabbing a finger in Jason's face and frowning when he doesn't look up, or react in any way. "The yellow thing has never applied to me. And _two,_ it's not even a thing anymore, so pick something else to be an ass about."

"You see this?" Roy asks, leaning against the back of the couch. "This is exactly what I mean. You sure there's nothing going on? You two sure fight like a married couple."

"Are you seriously saying that about Jason and _me?"_ Kyle gapes, staring between the two of them. "Seriously? What about Jason and _you?"_

"Hear that, sweetheart?" Roy drapes an arm over the back of the couch, finger skimming Jason's shoulder. "Kyle thinks we're cute together."

"I did not say that," he says, petulant, even though it might not entirely be off-base. He has eyes, okay? And Jason and Roy both are the type of people to be described using words like 'stunning' and 'godly' and (blame Donna) 'panty-droppingly hot'. Who doesn't like the thought of them together? Even the people who are not into men can at least appreciate the aesthetics.

"Shut up," Jason mutters, and Kyle watches, fascinated, as a faint tinge of pink touches at the edge of his face. "Weren't you doing something?"

Roy grins. "You know I'll always make time for you, baby," he says, leaning over and smacking a loud, wet kiss right over that flush, and the pink blooms into red, sweeping over the high arches of his cheeks and spreading down to his neck before Jason turns and gives a retaliatory swat.

"Fuck off," he snaps, finally setting his book down without marking the page, but maybe he has it memorized considering it's been open on the same one for the last half hour. "For the love of – remind me to throw you out a window sometime."

"You say the sweetest things to me, Jaybird." Roy darts back and snatches a grease-stained towel off the back of the couch, dodging again when Jason tries punching his shoulder. "Have fun on your date!" he calls, walking towards the basement. "Don't forget he's the side chick!"

"Eat a rock, Harper," Jason yells, digging around until he finds a pen and launching it at him.

"It's not a date!" Kyle calls, belatedly, watching as the pen bounces off the basement door. "Is it?" he asks, turning to Jason.

Jason just stares at him, still with traces of that dark flush staining his cheeks. Or maybe it's a new one at what Kyle's asking. "What?"

"Because I mean," he says, "it's a pretty bad one, honestly. I have standards, you know."

Jason keeps staring at him, and then he stares up at the ceiling, either cursing out a God that he doesn't believe in or Kyle. Probably Kyle. "For fuck's sake," he mumbles.

"I mean," Kyle continues, "where are the candlelight? The flowers?" He sweeps his arms out in an expansive gesture. "Come on, this is subpar. You've got to put more effort in, man."

Jason turns those vivid blue-green eyes back at him, habitual scowl overtaking his features. "Keep it up, and I'm shoving a lit candle up your ass."

"See," Kyle says, "this is exactly what I mean. You can't just bring out the weird shit right off the bat." Heh, bat. "Not that I'm judging, but—"

"An entire lit candle. Straight up your ass."

*

"What the hell is this shit?" Jason asks, peeking into one of the grocery bags Roy brought back.

Roy turns to look, putting the hickey on his neck on display. And it's so… _there._ Bright and vivid and evident in a way that the low collar of his shirt can't even begin to cover. "Look," he says, snatching the plastic containers out of Jason's grasp and putting them in the freezer, "Froyo is a perfectly valid—"

_"Froyo,"_ Jason says derisively, nudging a stack of what looks to be half a dozen frozen pizzas in his direction. "Jesus, Harper. If you really want shitty ice cream that bad, we can just throw fruit into some milk and toss it in the freezer."

"Yeah, yeah." Roy rolls his eyes. "It offends your delicate sensibilities or whatever. I don't want to hear it from someone who makes mac and cheese from scratch."

"That is _not_ the same thing—"

Every slight shift of movement brings more of the faint scent of perfume drifting towards him. Kyle had wracked his brain, at first, wondering when was the last time he remembers Roy wearing cologne. There's a ban on any scented products within the Tower and within any League quarters as a courtesy to those with heightened senses, and most vigilantes carry that rule into the rest of their business as well. Plus, Kyle was sure Roy didn't smell anything but himself when he'd left to see his old friend. Only after seeing the hickey and lipstick smudge on the collar of his shirt did Kyle finally realize that it's _perfume,_ and it isn't his.

Jason doesn't seem bothered, only mentioning offhand that Roy smells like a flower shop or a lingerie store (and Kyle has _questions_ about that last one, because, what) before starting to heckle him on his food choices, and Kyle is so, so confused. He's pretty sure he had their relationship pinned last time, but maybe they're just friends? Maybe he has it wrong, and there really is nothing going on between them. After all, Roy's always been pretty physical about his affections, ranting to anyone who will listen about America's stupid, asinine standards of masculinity, and how it's no wonder that boys grow up to be repressed men when the only physical contact they're allowed is through either sex or violence. At least, it's one of his many rants. Roy goes on rants a lot; it's sort of his thing.

"It's efficient," he argues, bending almost halfway back to the floor with one arm extended to keep a jar of pasta sauce out of Jason's hand. "I know it's an affront in the Alfred school of culinary, but you can't always make things from scratch."

"So eat something else." Jason grabs his hips, either steadying him or preventing his escape as he presses himself flush against Roy's chest to try and reach the jar. Unlike Roy, who makes an obvious, concentrated attempt at initiating contact, Jason just doesn't seem to have a sense of personal boundaries. "You shouldn't be eating that many carbs after patrol, anyway."

"Ooo, look at me with my fancy words." Roy snorts, grabbing onto Jason's shoulder. Kyle can't tell if he's trying to push him away or if he's just using it as an anchor to keep his tenuous balance, not when they're so close together.

_"You_ said that," Jason argues. "Hypocrite. How often do you even eat pasta? You're just going to open it and it'll sit in the fridge and grow mold and we'll have to toss it in the end."

"Yeah, because _you_ insist on making the sauce from scratch every time!"

"It tastes better!"

"You're such a snob." Kyle sees the brief, mischievous flicker dancing over Roy's face before he leans up and kisses Jason right on the mouth, and that—that can't be normal, right? That's not a thing you do with friends. He's staring, blatant and far too obvious. He's gaping. Possibly drooling as Roy grabs Jason's hair and pushes them back up, because yeah, they look as good together as Kyle thought they would, and it's only then that he realizes how _much_ he's thought about it.

Roy breaks away and smiles, eyes so warm with affection as his fingers massage the short hairs at the back of Jason's neck, and oh God, Kyle has so many questions.

"You have got to stop winning arguments like that," Jason mutters, making no move to pull away. From this angle, Kyle can't quite see his face, and part of him idly wonders if that same blush is back on his cheeks. The rest of him stutters to a stop at his words, at the implication that Roy's done this before and does it _often,_ often enough that it doesn't even phase Jason anymore.

"Why?" Roy leans back a little, putting the sauce into the still-open fridge and easing the door shut without ever once looking away from Jason. "It works so well."

Jason grumbles, "You're still wrong."

Roy's eyes catches Kyle's over his shoulder, and Kyle freezes, irrationally feeling guilty at having been caught even though that's ridiculous because they both _know_ he's here, even if he is having suspicions on whether they might've forgotten him. "Come on, Kyle. You're on my side, right?"

If Jason is surprised at being reminded of Kyle's presence, he doesn't show it, half-turning to face him, too. "Yeah," he says, "I really don't think he cares."

"I mean." Kyle holds up his ring. "I don't actually have to eat, so…" he trails off. "You know, sometimes I forget both of you grew up as rich kids."

Twin looks of offense appear on both their faces. He snorts, corners of his mouth pulling up into a smile. "Don't look at me like that," he says. "You know it's true."

*

"I'm just saying it's weird, okay?" The floating hand above him launches another arrow from its bow that turns into a net right before hitting its target. Sure, there were easier ways to do it, but Connor has a theme going on and Kyle isn't going to ruin his aesthetic. "There's obviously something going on with them."

Another arrow—a real one, this time, not a hastily thrown-together energy construct—shoots ahead of the stragglers, exploding into sparklers nipping at their heels. "Define something."

"Not a bad something!" Kyle hastens to add. As a rule, Green Arrow's team tend to be pretty scattered, operating on their own and with other teams as much as with each other, but they all seem to hold Roy in high regard. Even more than Green Arrow himself sometimes, maybe due to how infrequently he drops by. Something to do with absence making the heart grow fonder. "Just, you know. _Something._ You've seen them, right? They're all over each other."

Another two arrows sail over his head, expanding and elongating into rope wrapping around the last two targets. After making sure they're all down and secure, Kyle drifts from the sky, touching down beside Connor on the sloped awning. He waits for him to finish calling 911 and sweeps both of them up on a magic carpet. "And I thought they were together, but then Roy came back with this giant massive hickey on his neck. I mean, it was _huge_." He brings his fingers together to approximate the size of a quarter. "I swear it was at least this big. And there's no way Jason could've given it to him because I was _with_ Jason, and also I'm pretty sure he doesn't wear either perfume or lipstick." … pretty sure. Unless he's taken up some clandestine habits on the down-low, not that Kyle is judging. In fact, he is _very_ not judging. Wow.

Shaking off the image of Jason dressed in drag—or in lingerie, and okay, no, he _definitely_ does not need that picture right now—Kyle drags himself back to the present, turning when Connor points down a particular street. "There's no hiding it, is what I mean. And Jason definitely saw it, but he seems… fine. And I thought it was the end of that, but…"

The memory still makes him hot. Not in _that_ way, but—the way Roy looked at Jason after, soft and at ease, like in that moment there's no force in the world that can drag him away. Upon reflection, there's no way either of them would've forgotten he was there; Jason is paranoia personified, and Roy has that intrinsic awareness of his environment that comes habitual to any sniper. So does Jason, actually. Seriously, he's never seen either of them forget any small detail in their environment. So it's preposterous thinking they did it… well, not on purpose, but still knowing exactly what Kyle will see.

Still, he can't help feeling like an interloper, caught in the act of witnessing a private moment not meant for him to watch. "They make no _sense."_ He blows out a frustrated huff of air. "I mean, Roy comes back smelling like some girl and Jason does nothing, and then they're _kissing,_ and it's driving me crazy trying to figure out what it all means!"

"Maybe you're overthinking it," Connor suggests. "You seem… invested."

"I'm not _invested,"_ he says, and Connor gives him that look, the 'you're an idiot, but for some reason I like you so I'm not going to actually say it' look. "… okay, maybe I am a little invested. But it's not like—I'm just curious, you know?"

Connor hums.

"Like—they come out of _nowhere_ and suddenly they're joined at the hip. How did that happen, anyway? No one seems to remember how weird it was the Outlaws became a thing."

Kyle remembers. Kyle _definitely_ remembers being taken aback when he heard of the team, especially considering they all pretty much dropped off the face of the Earth for one reason or another at different times before and then just… appeared out of the woodwork. Together. Honestly, he'd been half-expecting some nefarious plot happening behind the scenes, because it seemed so out of character for Jason "I-don't-do-teams-and-fuck-you-for-implying-I'm-a-good-guy" Todd to team up with two of the most outgoing heroes he knows out of his own violation, but it's been _years_ now and nothing's happened so far. Or maybe it has, and he just wasn't on Earth for the shitshow. Being a Lantern means missing out on a lot of what's happening at home.

"Ah." Connor nods. "You're jealous."

The carpet screeches to a halt. Kyle turns to him, flipping up his mask just so Connor can see the full extent of his affront. "I'm not jealous!" He insists. "I'm just laying out the facts, alright? It's objective. I'm being objective, here."

"Of course you are," Connor says, tellingly nondescript. "Keep going. There's a robbery in five blocks."

The carpet starts moving again. "I'm not _jealous,"_ Kyle mumbles, flipping his mask back down.

"My mistake." Connor pats his shoulder in a way that's frustratingly non-condescending. God, Kyle can hate him sometimes for being so likeable and empathetic and _perfect._

Jerk.

*

"You're jealous," Donna tells him bluntly.

"I'm not jealous!" Kyle throws his hands up in exasperation. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Everyone?" she asks, arching one immaculately groomed brow, and Kyle huffs, sagging in his seat.

"Okay, you and Connor. But that's still everyone." He crosses his arms, knowing and not caring how it makes him look petulant. "What makes you say that, anyway? Why do you think I'm jealous?"

"Oh, Kyle." She reaches over, stealing another one of his fries that he's long stopped eating. "For someone who has powers based on your emotions, you can be so _dense_ sometimes."

"You're so mean to me," he whines, sliding further down in his seat. Around them, the harsh fluorescents of the diner burn in a pallid imitation of daylight, spilling into the dark parking lot outside their window. "Why did I ever date you?"

"Trust me," she sighs, and, without missing a beat, "I ask myself that same question every time I see you."

_"So_ mean," he laments. "Here I am, toiling day and night for the fate of this good Earth—"

"God, you're so dramatic." She throws a fry at him that he catches in his mouth. "You and Jason are perfect for each other."

Kyle chews and swallows, and says, with a mulish glare, "I don't know what you mean."

"Nope!" She points at him with another fry, ketchup hanging at a precarious angle and almost dripping onto the table. "Oh, no. No, no, no. You don't get that, Kyle. You do _not_ get to pretend to be ignorant when I was _there_ for your bisexual crisis. I saw it all, okay? I saw all of your ridiculous pining and the sappy doe eyes you were making at Jason when you thought he wasn't looking."

"I was not—"

_"I. Saw. It. All."_ She pops the fry in her mouth, somehow managing to imbue judgement into the action of chewing. "So _forgive me_ if I come to the conclusion that you're jealous when you come to me asking if he's been sleeping with someone else."

Kyle gives up, pushing his tray towards her and dropping his head onto the table. "That's not the _point,"_ he says, voice muffled by his arms. He turns his head, and says, more clearly, "I just don't… get what's going on with them."

"And _I_ don't know why you're so surprised." She shakes her head. "You know Roy gave up on 'traditional relationships' a long time ago."

"Yeah, but that's _Roy._ What about Jason?"

"Jason's on a team with Roy. And _Kori."_ She gives him another look. "You really think he's going to care?"

Honestly, yeah. Jason hides it well enough, but he can get pretty possessive sometimes, and Kyle still catches flashes of jealousy in his eyes whenever the conversation circles back to anything involving the first and third Robins. Maybe that's why he wears his helmet, because he's so open with his body, and hiding his face gives him at least some control over showing what he's feeling.

"He doesn't seem like the type," he says. "That's all."

"And what _is_ his type?" Donna asks. "Has he ever told you?"

"No," Kyle grumbles. "Come on, Donna, you know him. He never tells anyone _anything._ God, sometimes he's so similar to Batman it drives me crazy." Pause. "… please don't tell him I said that. Either of them." Kyle likes having his head on his shoulders, thank you very much. And Batman might not kill him, but he'll _look_ at him. And proceed to make things awkward for the next few months. Or years.

Guy's really got a talent for making things awkward.

"Noted," Donna says drily. Even through her exasperation, her blue eyes are still warm where they land on him, warm and inviting and feeling so much like _home._ Not his home, not anymore, but still a home for anyone who needs it. "You know you can just ask them, right?"

"No," he says. "That's weird. They're going to think I'm a weird, creepy voyeur."

"I mean." Donna shrugs. "You do want in on the action."

_"Donna."_

"What?" she asks, all innocence, and Kyle groans, hiding his red face. "Come on. You know I'm right."

"That's not relevant," he says, vowing to never tell her anything again.

"But seriously, Kyle." She reaches over, tugging at his hair until he finally relents and looks at her, and the light framing her dark hair make her look like she's glowing. Makes her look like the goddess that she _is,_ too gorgeous for this earthly realm. "They let you see that for a reason, alright? Whatever's going on, they trust you enough to _show_ you." She stares at him for a few more moments, just to let her words sink in, and then she grins. "Does _that_ help?"

"… okay, fine," he relents. "Yeah, that does actually help."

"Thank you," she says graciously. "I try."

"Yes, after _tormenting_ me." He gives her his best forlorn look. "Tell me, is my suffering that funny to you?"

"A little," she admits.

Sometimes, he misses her so much that it feels like a hand seizing in his chest, squeezing his heart tight in punishment for letting her go. The same way he misses Jade, and Alex, and—and some days it feels like that's all he can do. Grieving for everything he's lost by his own hand, because he keeps messing up. Because he's never _enough,_ never enough to protect them or to keep them, and every time he thinks there's a chance for a happy ending it keeps slipping through his fingers.

"I hate you," he grumbles.

She gives him a beatific smile, and the hand squeezes tighter. "No, you don't."

"No," he insists, "I really, really do."

*

It's two weeks before he's able to make it back on Earth again, disaster after disaster diverting his attention. First it was helping finalize the terms of the Skägor-Nalkasi peace treaties, and then it was helping Jessica and Simon evacuate a race of sessile aliens living on the outer regions of an asteroid belt in a system at imminent risk of destruction. And that's not even touching on his _normal_ duties as a Lantern patrolling his sector, and drawing up schedules for two hundred new recruits. Really, he's glad for all the new members they're getting after the decimation of the corps, but it's getting harder and harder to juggle all of them between the senior vanguard when there's so few of them.

So of course his ring has to alert him to some sort of emergency before he's even made it through the stratosphere, and it's so, so tempting to ignore it, to let someone else take care of it. It's not like Earth is short on heroes, and there's no way Kyle is the closest to anyone, considering he's, you know, still technically in _space_ right now. Besides, he's exhausted down to the bone, dragging his feet even in flight. The ring might take care of all his physical needs and keep his body in optimal condition, but everything else is running on empty. And it doesn't seem to have the same effect on sleep; he needs _less_ of it, sure, and at more infrequent intervals, but he does still _need_ it. It's been a couple of days since he's had the chance to lie down, and he feels stretched thin and wrung out, ready to collapse and pass out the minute he comes in contact with any horizontal surface.

Even with no one around to see him, Kyle still heaves a big, theatrical sigh, just for the sake of it, before, finally checking on the alert. He figures he should at least _see_ what's happening, in case it really is something big that can do with his assist—

It's Jason.

Without pausing to think, he adjusts his course and races towards the coordinate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this chapter has some descriptions of burn injuries. I don't think it's too graphic, but I also know my threshold for this kind of stuff is higher than most people, so. Just a heads up.

"Steady," Roy murmurs. "Come on, Kyle, you've got to relax."

There's a vague part of Kyle that thinks maybe he should feel patronized right now, offended at how easily Roy gives him an order and expects him to listen. Except he _does,_ tense muscles easing before he'd fully registered the intent, and he falls back against the broad chest behind him. Roy doesn't seem to mind, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady. "You good?"

"I'm good." Even now, even after all these years, Kyle still finds himself leaning into his presence, into the steady cadence of his voice. Maybe it's a thing about the Titans, how they all feel like home. All feel like comfort in some way even to those who've never been a part of them before, or only for a short while.

And Kyle… Kyle needs the comfort right now. Needs the reassurance that he's doing _good,_ that he's not messing up because this isn't… this isn't part of his normal repertoire. Theoretically, the ring is capable of pretty much _anything,_ limited only by the capabilities and knowledge of the wielder, but those are pretty big limitations. There's a reason why most of the Earth—most of the _League_ doesn't know that the ring is even capable of healing, because none of the Earth Lanterns are doctors.

It'll be so, so easy for him to mess up. But… he wouldn't be here if Roy doesn't trust that he wouldn't, and Kyle tries absorbing some of his faith. This is detail work, not too different from filling out the lines and colours of a drawing. Objectively, Kyle can see how he's one of the best people for this job, but the ramifications of messing up are far greater than getting yelled at by a commissioner. Not that he hasn't dealt with worse odds before, but…

"Breathe," Roy tells him, and Kyle lets out the lungful of stale air he's been holding. He's been at this for hours already—hours of sinking into Jason's lungs, scraping up the ash that's settled there and pulling it back out. Hours of threading through his bronchioles with the green light acting as both his eyes and hands, feeling the flutter of each individual heartbeat. It's... intimate. Tracing the contours of his body. Being _inside_ him and touching places no one else has touched before.

He wonders if Jason will see it the same way.

Green flickers at the edge of his vision. Jason is enveloped in the same aura right now as Kyle, the ring taking care of both their passive needs, but this light is different. Jason had told him and Donna about getting thrown in the Pit, feeling all that cold fire burn through him. Burning him _away_ in a twisted kind of baptism christening him as the devil's prophet against Batman—or at least, that's what he thought at first.

"Turns out the devil doesn't want me," he'd murmured, his voice growing faint along with the light in his eyes. "'least I can put that in my resume, huh? Crawled outta hell all on my own, an' now they won't… let me come back." His eyes had fallen shut at that point, but he'd blinked them open with only a faint ring of green around his pupil. Donna had long switched from holding him down to just _holding_ him, propping him up against her chest and running her fingers through his dirty hair. "Heh. Not good enough for Hell. 'S gotta mean something."

She hadn't let go of him at all that night. Not after he'd finally fallen asleep, not after she'd followed, and Kyle had stayed up all night to keep watch. Even in sleep, Jason hadn't seemed able to find rest, alternating between clenching his jaw or furrowing his brows in a way that made Kyle want to reach out and smooth out that tense line. He wasn't stupid enough to actually _do_ it, but…

Yeah. The less he lets Jason rely on the Pit, the better.

It's so different from the way he looks now. Now, with a line feeding into his arm forcing him into a state that only resembles sleep. Roy had put it in yesterday, apparently, after Jason had woken up and wouldn't stop coughing. The Pit can heal any injury, but apparently it can't dissolve external contaminants and had gone into overdrive trying to get it out of his body.

They'd talked about it. If Starfire were here, she would just hold Jason down (or hold him _up,_ more like, hovering six feet above the ground) and let him cough up all the poison in his lungs by himself, but she's not here right now. Kyle isn't privy on the details; most Green Lanterns are on a strictly need-to-know basis when it comes to the League, considering how little time they spend on Earth, but he does know that she's on some secret mission out in space, and probably will be for the next long while.

It was Jason's idea, hooking the line up in the first place. Jason who told Roy the exact dosages to use in order to knock him out, and Kyle wonders how he found _that_ out. Definitely not at a normal hospital; far as he knows, he _can't_ get any treatment there. Not only because of the legally dead thing, but also because he burns through medicine like a speedster. Plus, with the Pit… it's really not a good idea to have him around civilians when he's injured.

He almost wants to ask how long it took Jason to convince him. Roy… isn't a big fan of pain medication. Or sedatives. Which makes sense, considering. Kyle doesn't know all the details of his addiction, but knowing _of_ it is enough. Then again, maybe it's different when it comes to other people, though he can't think Roy must've been a big fan of knocking Jason out, either. But it's better than the alternative, considering Jason can bounce back from pretty much anything aside from decapitation, and Roy… can't.

Huh. He'll have to remember to make that joke to Jason when he wakes up. He's basically an actual, living zombie.

"Okay," Kyle says, finally pulling the last bits of ash out of his lungs. "Okay, I think I'm done." More than done, honestly. He'd only needed to remove the worst of it, but Kyle has the same perfectionist drive as any artist. There's no way he can clear it _completely,_ but he'd done the best he can. Besides, the more work _he_ does, the less work _Jason_ will have to do.

Roy seems to be thinking along the same lines; he doesn't seem to have any issue with staying by his side for hours while he works. "Thanks," he says, squeezing Kyle's shoulder and sliding out from behind him, letting him rest on the bed beside Jason. Every bed in this place seems to be at least a king, giving ample room for three people to fit even though Jason and Roy aren't exactly small. "He can probably take it from here."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Kyle asks dubiously, propping himself up and watching as Roy slides the cannula out of Jason's arm.

"Yeah." Roy shoves the IV stand away, snagging a chair and dragging it over. "Might need your help holding him for a bit, but it shouldn't be too bad." He sighs, stretching out a crik in his neck. "Times like this is when I miss Kori."

"I could've done it too," Kyle points out.

"You were sleeping." Roy snags a napkin from the endtable, brushing the sweat off his brows and dabbing the spit away from his slack mouth.

Kyle drags his eyes away. "Yeah, and you could've _woke_ me." He frowns. "It's not like I care if it's for something important."

"You know how hard it is to wake you when you finally pass out?" Roy scoffs, tossing the tissue in the trash. "Seriously, Kyle, you've done—you've done more than enough."

There's a hitch in his breath that Kyle pretends not to hear. "I could've done _more. _I could've—"

"Okay, okay, I get it, sheesh." Roy rolls his eyes. "I'll wake you up from your beauty sleep next time he's in trouble, alright?"

Irritation bleeds into Kyle. "You think this is about _him?"_ he asks, hovering up and over Jason and grabbing Roy by the shoulder just to press his point home. "Look, I know you're convinced we have a—a _thing,_ or whatever, but—"

"Keep it _down,"_ Roy warns him, grabbing his hand but not shaking it off.

"—you're injured, too." Kyle drops his voice accordingly, giving a pointed look to the bandages around Roy's arm. "I know how he gets, okay? _Donna_ had trouble keeping him down. You really think you can—"

_You really think you can handle him by yourself?_ The words just barely stop short of coming out of his mouth. Judging by the glare Roy shoots him, he still hears them loud and clear.

"Yeah," he says, setting his jaw in a familiar stubborn line that probably triggers the fight or flight instinct in anyone who knows him by now. "That's exactly what I think."

"Roy—"

"Kyle. Sit down."

He drops back to the bed on Jason's other side, getting whiplash from the abrupt switch in Roy's tone. Jason's breathing speeds up the slightest amount, and instantly Roy's attention is focused on him. It's with the sense of witnessing an impending train wreck that Kyle watches Roy lean over Jason, bracing one hand on the edge of the bed, ensuring that he'll be the first and only thing Jason sees when he wakes up.

There's no fanfare to it. No gasps, no twitching. Just Jason's eyes opening in bright poisonous green, his hand racing from the bed at a speed that's almost too quick for Kyle to follow—

"Hey." Roy catches his wrist, squeezing but not forcing it down. Kyle just barely holds himself back from clamping the manacles down on both of them, green sparks fizzing out in the air above them. "Hey, Jaybird, it's me."

Jason goes still like a predator ready to strike. Kyle watches, the sound of his own heartbeat thumping louder and louder as the anticipation builds. And then a tremor runs through Jason's body and he folds to the side, coughing up the last of the sputum sitting in his lungs.

Roy waits until he's done, and then he pulls him closer, curling over him like he's trying to protect _him_ from the world. Again Kyle raises his hand when Jason does, green lines drawing over his wrist, but Jason just latches onto Roy's shirt and uses it to pull him closer, closer like he wants to sink into him, like he needs the reminder that he's real.

"It's okay," Roy murmurs, speaking so softly that Kyle almost doesn't catch his words. Jason isn't talking at all, just listening to the lyrical lilt of his voice as he repeats the same words he's obviously said hundred of times before. "You're safe, baby. You're safe."

Jason had said that the Pit burned him away, and Kyle remembers thinking that he's not too wrong. Because it's true that Jason is always burning with _something—_burning in rage or righteousness or a cocky, brash confidence that makes you want to clock him in the face, and Kyle still isn't sure that it's not on purpose. Burning himself, and making others burn too so they don't look too close, look beyond the fire to peer at the cold core of logic burning at his center.

But when those green flames flare up it burns that away too, burns away everything and leaving only the outer shell to contend with, and—Kyle hadn't known how much Jason held back until he _wasn't._ Until he was nothing but an animalistic berserker snarling before him, stripped of his usual methodical care. Strong enough to knock down an Amazon, fast enough to almost get to _him_ before he could make the right constructs to slow him down, and there was nothing they could _do_ back then. Nothing they could do but wait.

Except there's nothing of that same wild creature in the way Jason curls into Roy, letting Roy hold him as tightly as he's holding onto him when he wouldn't even let Kyle or Donna _touch_ him without putting up a fight. "You're okay, darling, alright?" Roy runs his fingers through his dirty hair in a touch that's not tentative, but careful. It settles at his back between his shoulderblades, rubbing soothing circles there while he ducks his head and says, "It's just me, Jaybird. It's just me."

Except it's not just him. It's Kyle, too, sitting at the edge of the same bed with an ugly jealousy twisting in his gut, because he was the one standing with Jason when it wasn't this easy. He was the one who sat here for hours scraping his lungs clean, and—and it's not _enough._

Kyle's seen him at his lowest. Seen him scraping the dregs of his self-control, held him through his delirious mumblings, slogged with him through battles that lasted _days,_ and he's still here. _We looked for you,_ he wants to say. _Me and Donna both. We **looked,** and we couldn't find you._ Not until two years later when he burst back onto the scene with Arsenal and Starfire flanking his sides.

After all that, he's still here. He's still here, and that has to count for something, right? Except Jason is curling into Roy like he wants to drown out the rest of the world with _him,_ with his scent and his warmth and his voice whispering in his ear, and Kyle wants to ask him _why._ Why him_,_ and not Kyle. _Why._

Why isn't he _enough?_

*

"Stay still."

"I'm fine," Jason grouches, but he listens anyway, stops his restless fidgeting and lets Roy peel back the bandages around his torso.

Kyle holds back a wince as more and more of his skin is revealed, a mosaic of pink and dark red with yellow-purple bruising at the edges. In the parts not covered in injury, patches of his skin are sloughing off like he has a hyper-active sunburn, which, to be fair, isn't that far off from the truth. "That doesn't look fine to me."

"I heal fast," Jason tells him dismissively, not seeming to care when Roy prods at part of his bruising. His non-reaction is almost as disturbing as the expanse of burns being revealed.

Almost.

Roy's mouth slants down in an unimpressed line. And then, "Ow!" Jason hisses, jerking away from his touch. "That hurts, asshole!"

"Sorry." Roy slides him a hard-edged smile. "I thought you were _fine."_

Jason's glare burns for another few seconds, and then it abruptly dies down. "Whatever," he says, cutting his eyes away before the flames fade back to embers. "Keep playing nurse if it makes you so happy."

A muscle jumps in Roy's clenched jaw. He looks at Jason, letting the silence between them fester and boil, and then goes back to unwrapping his torso in silence.

Kyle wonders if he's stepped into some sort of mirrored world. This is such a stark turnabout from yesterday, and—technically it's the same. Technically Roy is still fussing over Jason in spite of his complaints, except there's the hard cast of anger over every action. It stands in stark contrast to the way he's touching him, deft hands undoing the wrappings like he's taking the packaging off of a precious gift.

The thing is, Jason's not _wrong._ It's been only three days since Kyle pulled them from the fire, but looking at Jason it seems more like… a week? Maybe? Kyle's not too sure about the baseline healing rate among unenhanced humans anymore, but he knows it's slower than this. The burns marring his torso still make a grisly sight, but it's leagues better than the sight he'd been greeted with when he peeled Jason's (somehow still-functioning) suit away from him.

He still remembers the _smell_ of it, sweat and roasted flesh and singed keratin that had almost triggered his gag reflex. In his tenure as a Lantern, Kyle had been subjected to a _lot_ of gruesome sights and scents, but there's still a basal, primitive part of him that reacts more when it's human. When it's _familiar,_ years of instinct convalescing into shock and disgust, and it's made worse by the fact that it's _Jason._

Jason, sitting in front of him now, dipping his head as Roy dabs at his skin with a piece of wetted gauze before smearing ointment over the burns. It doesn't fit, the way that Jason is sitting, holding himself all lax and loose in one deliberate line. It doesn't fit, because he's waiting for a blow while Roy is touching like he's blown glass.

Maybe he's just holding back how much he still hurts, but… Kyle's seen him when he's in pain. Seen him right before a hit lands, too, one that he's too slow to avoid, and it's that breathless pause of anticipation he's seeing now. Balancing on the precipice of hurt, on something he's too slow to avoid—

His mistake. _His._

Jason is taking the fault.

The fault for _what,_ he doesn't know. Well, Kyle can hazard a guess, but he's not sure he wants to get in between… whatever is going on right now. Interrupt the conversation happening under his nose, and he might have a good guess, but guessing all he has. He can guess at the source of Roy's anger. Guess at the way Jason is baring his neck in supplication or in defeat, and whether he's _asking_ or just waiting. Guess at the reason why Roy is showing both his care and his anger, showing it like a deliberate study in contrasts, or maybe it's not. Maybe it's just Roy and his penchant for valuing truth above all else, above diplomacy or clarity or to spare anyone's feelings. Not in a malicious way, but a way of showing respect. _You're strong, and I trust you, and I don't have to coddle you or shield you from hurt._

Kyle doesn't _know._ He knows some of the specifics of their own individual languages, but he doesn't know how to speak this pidgin they've made. And—and he wants to, if only to _help_ them, to not feel like this voyeuristic interloper grasping at straws, but he's not—

"Alright." Roy shatters the silence, standing up from his seat and wiping his hands on a towel. "Back's done." He walks to the front, nudging Jason back until he's baring all of his chest and torso for the same treatment.

Jason stares as Roy pushes his legs apart and settles between them. So does Kyle, but for probably different reasons. Probably. "You know I can do this part myself, right?" he asks, his rough voice rougher than normal, and hell, maybe his mind did go to the same indecent places Kyle's just did.

"I know." Roy takes another piece of gauze and runs it down his chest, pointedly focusing his eyes only on what he's doing.

Jason licks his lips. It'll be easy for him to push Roy away, to brush him off, but he just sits there, still looking down at Roy like he's… like he's just as lost as Kyle, and Kyle wonders if _that's_ for the same reasons, too. "You don't have to—"

"I _know.”_ Roy's voice comes out sharp like a whip's crack, and he finally lifts his eyes to meet Jason's. "Just let me, alright?"

There's no _please_ tacked on to the end. He isn't _asking_ Jason to let him take care of him, and Jason folds almost as soon as he says it, glancing away like he hadn't built his whole reputation on being meaner, quicker, more callous than you, on spitting in the face of luck and sense and yet still coming out on top.

Kyle feels like a planet revolving around two suns right now. Caught in their pull, always falling at a distance, too small to be noticed amidst their light. Unable to push himself closer or fall further away without something crashing through the whole system, and they're both so damn _bright_ is the thing_._ Both burning with different fires that drowns out the light of anyone near them.

It's always the same. He reaches for warmth and it explodes in a supernova, leaving him cold and bereft and drifting with no anchor. Drifting until he gets caught by another star, but gravity is just a curve in spacetime and there's nothing for him to hold on to. No way to stop himself from falling no matter which way he runs, and maybe this is better. Maybe it's better for him to watch from the outside because around him, nothing seems to last. Because a planet can't become a star, and it doesn't matter how much he wants Jason when Roy is so _good_ to him.

There's… really no other way to put it. Roy pulls Jason out of his own head, and Jason stops Roy from sinking into his. They're so _good_ for each other.

Quietly, Kyle backs out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aww, Kyle," Hal says, obviously enjoying this far too much. "Don't you want love advice from your uncle Hal?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, hello, I am still here! This work is still being updated! I just got, uh. Distracted for a while there, but I am BACK with the next part of... this. 
> 
> Astute readers might notice that the chapter count has increased. I'm trying to stick to my outline but things just start creeping in and I have no control over this fic, or my life :')
> 
> (Human trafficking is mentioned in this chapter, but nothing graphic is shown. One (1) alcoholic drink is consumed. There's more descriptions of injuries, but nothing as graphic as the last chap. Also there's a shitton of pining. Oh god, the pining.)
> 
> (Steph also sort of took over at the end there. Oops?)

"So. I heard you got a crush—"

"No, Hal."

"—on a little—aw, come on. At least let me finish."

_"No,"_ Kyle says, and hastily makes his escape. This, right here? This is exactly why letting himself get drunk in Guy's bar is a bad idea, and why he's never letting himself ever do that again.

_Ever._

*

"It's just not _fair."_ Kyle slides down in his seat, glaring at the bright blue drink in front of him. White sparkles rise from the mass at the bottom, fizzing into frothy foam as soon as it comes in contact with the atmosphere. Briefly, Kyle gets distracted watching them trace their pre-defined paths, arcing in lazy spirals through the fluorescent blue liquid.

Hal says, "Wow. And here I thought you had enough bad luck with girls." Kyle blinks, slow and languid, and then he raises his head to glare at him. "What?" Hal shrugs, unrepentant. "I'm right."

"Shut _up,"_ Kyle groans, laying his head back down on the table. "Why am I even telling you this?" He'd already made Hal promise four times to not share any of this with Green Arrow, or with Batman, and no, he doesn't care how much of a 'pompous bat-bastard' he's being. "Oh my god, this was a mistake. I regret everything."

"Aww, Kyle," Hal says, obviously enjoying this far too much. "Don't you want love advice from your uncle Hal?"

Kyle stares at him.

Hal gives him a toothy grin, looking completely too self-satisfied with himself.

"No." Kyle flips up his mask so that Hal can see his wide-eyed look of horror. _"No._ Absolutely not. You take that back."

"Which part? The part where I called myself uncle, or—"

"All of it, Hal. _All of it."_

"Is Kyle complaining about his love life again?" The low, rough timbre of Guy's voice drifts over like a chorus of singing angels, saving Kyle from enduring more of Hal's stupid old-guy jokes. Even if it's at the expense of his dignity. He really needs to find some better friends.

"No," Kyle says before Hal can open his stupid dumb mouth. "I am not _complaining._ I was _blackmailed."_

"Oh, yeah," Hal says, nodding. "He's definitely complaining."

"I am _not—"_

"Hey, all I said was that if you didn't tell me the details, I'll get them from _this_ guy instead." He jerks his thumb in Guy's direction.

"What did I say? _Blackmail."_

Guy slaps the dirty towel he's holding down on the table beside them and crosses his arms, thunderous scowl overtaking his features. Which isn't saying much; his face is the type that's meant for wearing scowls, and he uses it to its full potential. Sort of like Jason. Well, like Jason when he's not wearing his stupid bucket mask. God, Kyle hates that bucket. Hood. Helmet. Whatever. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Uh…" Kyle flounders for a second, before deciding, fuck it. He's just drunk enough to not care about the consequences of pissing him off. "The Bro Code, Guy! It means you broke the Bro Code!" He gestures empathetically, pointing to Guy and then Hal before his arm flops back to his side, almost knocking his drink off the table.

Guy is still scowling, but it's his confused scowl, not his angry one. Kyle has a catalogue of his scowls; at this point, he likes to think he's the expert on Guy's facial expressions. "Bro code? What do you mean I broke it? It's not like you told me to keep it a secret!"

"It was _implied!"_ Heads turn at Kyle's shrill voice, and his red face flushes deeper. "I'm telling you _now,_ okay?" he says, lowering it to a more reasonable volume. "You can't just go around telling people who I like!"

If he were more sober, he might've slapped himself for making it so blatant when Hal's _right there._ Maybe he will, later, but that's for future, sober Kyle to deal with. "What?" Guy's brows smooth out a little, his nose twitching. Shit. Abort, abort, his face is sliding into angry territory. _"He_ brought it up first!"

Kyle blinks. He leans back. "No," he says. "There's no way—"

"Yeah," Hal says, shrugging. At Kyle's baffled look, he snorts, taking a sip of his soda. "I keep up with Roy, alright?" Oh, right. Hal's like his second dad or something. Or. Third? "Of course I know you've been mooning over his boyfriend."

Oh god, Roy knows. Not that he's the jealous type, but _what if._ "Shit," he says, sinking down in his seat. "Am I in danger? Is Roy planning to kill me?"

"Kid," Hal starts.

"Wait." Kyle abruptly straightens up, and then slumps back down again when the sudden movement gives him vertigo. _"Boyfriend?"_

It's Hal's turn to look baffled. "… yes?" he ventures, sharing a look with Guy before they both seem to realize that the other isn't John, making a face, and looking away."

"As in, they're a thing?" Kyle presses. "An actual _thing?"_

Hal gives a slow nod. "It's old news, kid. You seriously didn't know?" He grimaces. "I mean, it's not like they're really, uh. Subtle."

Kyle frowns. "Of course I knew they were _something,"_ he says, feeling the need to defend himself. "But I didn't know they were actually dating…"

"I mean, I don't think they really call it that either?" Hal scratches his head. "Starfire had a Tamaranean word for it, but on Earth dating usually implies two people, so—"

"Wait, _Starfire_ too?!"

Hal is starting to look more bemused. "I can't tell if you're really this out of the loop or just seriously repressed."

"Nah," Guy says. "Not repressed. Repression's like." He snaps his fingers. "Like pushing it down and shit, right? But Kyle already knows he's attracted to dudes."

"Right." Hal nods. "In denial? Willfully ignorant?"

Kyle drops his face into his hands with a groan. "Roy _and_ Kori! And Jason! Together! They won't even look at me!"

Hal and Guy share another look. Maybe this is how they can bond, over the dumpster fire that is Kyle's love life. Non-love life. Hypothetical love life. Eugh. "They?" Hal asks. "As in—"

"Doesn't matter." Kyle drains the rest of his drink and slumps down in his seat. "I have no chance."

"For fuck's sake," Guy mutters, snatching away Kyle's empty glass. "You're making him mope again."

"I didn't do anything!" Hal insists. "He did this to himself!"

"If you'd just kept your damn mouth _shut—"_

"Oh, like _you're_ one to talk—"

Yeah, he _really_ needs to find some better friends.

*

Two weeks later, Kyle slides through the window of Jason's safehouse and straightens up to find a gun being pointed at his head.

"Uh," he says, raising his hands.

"Goddammit," Jason swears, holstering his weapon. "Learn to knock, dipshit."

"Who are you calling a dipshit, dipshit?" Kyle asks, closing the window behind him. "Besides, I _told_ you I'm coming."

Jason gives him a flat, incredulous look. "This?" he asks, fumbling with his phone and showing Kyle the tweet he'd tagged him in that just says 'WHERE'. "This is what you call telling me?"

"Okay, but you did see it," Kyle points out. The address had arrived in his phone ten minutes after, sent from an unlisted number. "And if _someone_ didn't keep changing his number and moving, I can just _ask him_ like a normal person."

Jason sighs, rolling his eyes up to glare at the ceiling before rummaging around in his pocket, pulling out an old crumpled receipt and a stubby pencil and scribbling something on the back. "Here," he grunts, shoving it at Kyle.

Kyle stares down at the phone number and the three other numbers below, scratched out in Jason's thin, hurried scrawl. "What's this?" he asks.

"Personal number," Jason tells him like it's nothing, shoving the pencil back in his pocket and busying himself tapping something out on his phone. "And the radio numbers of three subdermal trackers. Happy?"

"Dude," Kyle says.

"What?" Jason gives him an irritated look.

"You," he starts, looking from Jason to the paper he's holding in his hands, and then he shakes his head. "Of course this is normal to you. You're raised by Batman, of _course_ this is normal."

"What are you getting at, Rayner?" Jason asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Are you even allowed to give me this?" Kyle waves the receipt at him. "Isn't this supposed to be super confidential? I feel like Batman is going to break into my apartment and hit me with some Bat-trademarked mind whammy device for knowing too much."

"For fuck's sake," Jason says, stepping forward and reaching for the paper. "If you don't want it, I'll just—"

"No!" Kyle it to his chest and steps back from Jason, giving him a possessive glare. "No, this is mine. No take-backs."

Jason stares at him. "You sure you didn't hit your head on something?"

"I'm just saying." Kyle shoves the receipt into one of his pockets, fingers lingering over the crumpled paper because he's half-scared that it might vanish as soon as he stops touching it. "If Batman bat-whammies me—"

"Say that again, and I'll shoot you."

"—and I lose all my memory, and forget who I am, this is your fault." He points at Jason. "I'm laying the blame for any future Bat-whammies on you."

Jason rolls his eyes. "I'm regretting it already."

"No take-backs," Kyle reminds him, and he can't help his smile.

*

Awareness filters in slowly through his sluggish mind. Low voices talking around him, warmth suffusing his lax body. Fingers running through his hair, slow and measured and calming, and it's…

Nice. It's nice.

Nice enough that it _should_ make him wary, but there's something in the back of his head telling him that it's safe. There's something familiar in the ridges of muscle nestled under his head, the low voices slowly resolving itself into words.

"What were you saying about tonight?"

Roy.

"Hm?" Jason's voice comes from somewhere more distant in the room. "Oh. Yeah. Apparently the brat's throwing a snit fit because Dick asked for Blondie as backup," he says, followed by a snort that might be amusement, or exasperation, or both.

Roy hums. His fingers sink deeper into Kyle's hair, nails scratching over his skull like he's a cat, and Kyle has a brief moment of panic because he hasn't gotten the chance to shower yet before apparently letting himself pass out on the couch of Jason and Roy's safehouse. Or on Roy. Oh, God, please don't let it actually be on Roy. He can already hear the stupid jokes Roy would make about Kyle falling onto his lap. "We're supposed to sneak in, right? No offense to the kid, but he's not exactly subtle."

"He wouldn't know subtle if it bit him in the ass." Jason's voice drifts closer, along with the scent of kerosene. There's the sound of shifting fabric, the light clinking of metal.

"Hey, careful." Roy leans forward a little, stomach nudging Kyle's head. "Don't move those around too much, the trigger for them is still-"

"Couldn't get the pressure sensor to align, right?" Jason asks. "Chill. I fixed it."

"Oh." Roy eases back. Kyle is suddenly very aware that he's lying on his _lap,_ and he can feel every twist and shift of muscle beneath his head. "Wait, when? Did you sneak out of bed last night?"

… in retrospect, yeah, it was pretty stupid of Kyle to not see that they were an item sooner. What did Hal call it, _willful ignorance?_ Or was it_ denial?_

"I didn't sneak out." Jason sounds defensive. "You were passed out, okay? I swear if you were snoring any louder you would've—"

"Thanks, Jaybird," Roy says, effortlessly cutting him off, and his voice is so warm and full of affection that it makes _Kyle_ want to squirm, makes his face heat up where it's pressing against the rough denim of his jeans. Makes him want – he wants – but this isn't for him, and he can't help the slow crawl of guilt creeping up to his shoulder.

He shifts, and Roy's fingers still, curling right over his ear. The brief brush of his skin almost makes Kyle shiver, and he stops his traitorous body just in time.

This… this may be starting to become a problem.

Who is he kidding. It already _is_ a problem. "Don't let me stop you," he mumbles into Roy's lap, keeping his eyes closed because maybe he can pretend he isn't intruding in their _this,_ whatever _this_ actually is. Because they still haven't put a name to it, right? Jason's always been flighty, and Roy's never been one for settling down.

If Hal could hear him right now, he would probably call it more wishful thinking, and then he'd shake his head in sympathy and put his hand on his shoulder.

Or he'll laugh at him, because sometimes Hal can be an ass.

Screw Hal, anyway. He doesn't know anything.

A soft chuckle sounds from Roy. "Sure thing, boss," he says, dragging his fingers down to curl them over the base of his neck, and Kyle can't stop his shiver this time, feeling the scrape of his nails over sensitive skin. If he didn't know better, he would've thought that Roy might be doing this on _purpose._

Before he can go down that rabbit hole, a shrill ringing cuts through the air. It makes Kyle jump, makes his eyes fly open in time to see Jason pull his phone out of his pocket and scowl at the screen before bringing it up to his ear.

"Hey," he says in a voice that's gruff enough to make people think it's his pissed-off tone, but it isn't, really. Because when Jason's actually mad, he gets… jovial, almost. Puts on a perky mask of cheer while he eviscerates you with his words, and yes, it is exactly as creepy as it sounds.

"What, now?" He tilts his head, paces around the room. "Chill, Dickie, it's fine. I was just checking."

He talks a few more minutes with Dick – _Nightwing –_ and then he hangs up, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "Get up," he says, jerking his head at the door. "We're leaving. Apparently the schedule's moving up."

"Wait." Kyle raises his hand, pushing himself up from Roy's lap. "Am I included in this 'we'?"

Jason gives him an expression he can't decipher. "Whatever," he says, before turning and heading deeper into the safehouse, probably to gear up. "Suit yourself."

"You know that doesn't actually answer anything, right?" Kyle calls after his retreating form.

Roy laughs, patting him on the shoulder. "If you're not too busy, I don't see why you can't tag along, is what he means."

Kyle frowns. "You sure?" There's been a couple of times when he's nipped in at the tail end of some mission or another – and he pushes back the memory of flames roaring around him, Jason's battered body almost slipping through his gloves as he yanks him out of the way of a falling beam – but it's been a while since he's actually done… _this._ This, as in patrolling back on Earth. It seems like Jason and Roy have a good thing going on, and he doesn't want to throw off their groove or something.

Not to mention that he isn't sure how he's going to fit in between them, and Nightwing, who he's only met a handful of times before. Once while he was coming down to the Batcave in nothing but his boxers, back when Kyle was still learning to fight with Batman. The image is still seared into his mind, and really, it's a miracle that Kyle didn't have his bisexual crisis sooner.

(Donna can never know, he decides. If she ever finds out, she's never going to let him live it down.)

Roy gives him a discerning look, and then he cocks his brow, a familiar cocky smirk pulling at his lips. "What, nervous?"

"I'm not nervous!" Kyle crosses his arms, trying not to feel offended because he _knows_ Roy. If there is shit to be stirred, then he's going to go and stir it, and Kyle is better than this, okay? He is a mature, adult member of the Justice League, and he isn't going to get caught in these petty games of one-upmanship.

"I mean," Roy says casually, also starting to head down the hall in the same direction as Jason, "You don't _have_ to come."

"Maybe I won't, but not because I'm nervous!"

"Can you two shut up?" Jason pokes his head out of the doorway, and Kyle halts on his tracks, immediately distracted by his disheveled hair and his half-naked torso. There's still the faint impression of burns marring his skin, and he's got the end of a bandage wrapped around his knuckle, the other pulling tight over his chest. "Get a move on. We don't have time to be standing around gossiping like old ladies."

"Sure thing, mom," Roy mocks, shoving him in the shoulder – taking care to avoid the still-healing bruise there, before casually stripping off his shirt as he walks into the same room. And Kyle would be distracted again, except the injuries on _him_ look far worse than they do on Jason. It looks like his torso is one big bruise, the outlines of his ribs showing over his skin, and Kyle must spend too long staring because Roy looks over at him and rolls his eyes. "Quit looking at me like I just got stabbed. I'm fine."

"You sure?" Kyle asks, suddenly very aware that Roy is _human,_ that there's nothing boosting his baseline stamina, like Jason, no artifact helping him counterbalance any of his weaknesses.

Not that he _is_ weak, it's just – it's just that the rest of them are _stronger._ And the terror that grips Kyle at the thought of losing him seems to come out of nowhere, slamming into his chest with the force of whatever had hit Roy to make his _ribs_ stand out against his skin.

Something tightens in Roy's posture. "Yeah," he says in that light tone that isn't really light at all. "I'm sure."

Jason and Kyle both exchange a look with each other, breaking their gaze when Roy picks up the dwindling roll of bandages on the table and turns an expectant eye to Jason. "Come on," he says. "Weren't you the one telling us to get our asses in gear?"

"Yeah, yeah." Jason rolls his eyes, hurriedly tugging his bandages free to show some of the more severe burns which still haven't completely healed. "You know how Goldie gets."

"Uh," Kyle says, suddenly feeling very awkward standing in front of both – in front of Roy and Jason who are both half-dressed. "Do you… need anything? I can just." He jabs his thumb at the door. "Wait. I'll wait."

Roy seems amused at his flustered stammering. "Hand me that tub of gel first," he says, nodding at a shelf that's nailed straight into the wall. His palm brushes Kyle's fingers when he reaches out and takes it from him, and Kyle is hit with the sense memory of those same fingers curling into his hair. "So you're coming?"

It's innocent. It's literally the most innocent question there _is,_ but Roy's so… _Roy,_ and Kyle is going to blame that on the suggestive tone he hears. The suggestive tone that _isn't there,_ because they're just continuing the conversation, right? And even if it is, it doesn't mean anything because this is Roy and Roy's always been open with his affections, and oh God, why can't his mind just _shut up._

"Sure," Kyle says. "Yeah. Yup. I'll just, you know. Wait. Out there."

He hastily backs out of the room before his face starts burning and gives him away. Yeah. Yeah, this is definitely going to be a problem.

*

As it turns out, they do have a job for Kyle. Nightwing pairs him with Spoiler, another in what seems to be an endless parade of Jason's… siblings? Pseudo-siblings? Siblings-in-Bat? And gives them a list of addresses to hit.

"We need to get them all tonight," he says in a grim and serious tone. No one should be able to impart that much gravitas to their words with hot pink Velcro rectangles holding their bangs back from his face, especially when they seemed so _cheerful,_ earlier, but Nightwing – Dick – makes the switch in the span of a heartbeat, fast enough to give Kyle whiplash. "Otherwise, they're going to be moved, and it's going to take me another few months to track them down again. If they're even still in Blüdhaven, that is."

"What are they moving?" Kyle asks, staring down at the list and then at the map that's spread on the table beside it, matching the addresses with the loops of red and blue ink scribbled over its surface.

"People," Jason offers in explanation, and doesn't elaborate. Not that he needs to. Kyle can fill in the blanks well enough on his own.

Stephanie – Spoiler – and him make quick work hitting the houses while Jason and Roy and Nightwing play at keeping the leaders of the trafficking ring distracted. Or rather, make sure that they _stay_ distracted and don't leave the party they're all at. Kyle sort of feels like a glorified taxi service, ferrying Stephanie back and forth from house to house and waiting until she either gives him the signal or returns with one to four girls trailing behind her.

And they're _girls,_ some of them looking no older than twelve. Kyle has seen his fair share of trafficking circles and slave rings during his time as a Lantern, but it… it feels different somehow, seeing it here. It's not that he doesn't _know_ about the things happening on Earth, but Earth is _home_ and _home_ means safety.

It's an illusion, he knows. A defense system. Call it whatever; it's skewed and illogical and he _knows_ that, but it still doesn't make it any easier to handle when it gets shattered.

"Man, this goes by so much faster with you here," Steph tells him as he's flying her to another location, the seventh one that they've got on their list. Her voice is as upbeat as ever, seemingly unaffected by what they've seen tonight, which… makes sense, honestly. To her, this type of scene must be familiar, and there's a certain mental distance that's required as part of the job. "I can't believe Jason's been keeping you to himself."

"I mean, he's not keeping me?" Kyle answers, glad to have any distraction from his tumbling thoughts. "I'm not on Earth a lot, so…"

She makes a non-committal noise, glancing at him from the other seat of the DeLorean. "But you want him to keep you, right?"

Her blithe, casual tone throws him off, worming its way past his defenses and metaphorically socking him in the metaphorical gut when he finally registers the meaning of her words. "Uh," he says, brain drawing to a screeching halt. "What?"

"Or is it Roy?" she wheedles, obviously taking joy in his discomfort, because she is a Bat and all Bats are _assholes._ "Or both? Is it both? Oh man, I bet it's both."

"No!" Kyle blurts out. "No, it's not – I'm not trying to be a homewrecker!" he says, and then he groans, thunking his head against the dashboard. "Can you just pretend I didn't say that? Can we just pretend this whole conversation didn't happen?"

Stephanie stares at him, and then she snorts, and then she bends over and laughs, her body shaking with her mirth. "Oh my God," she says, her voice all full of undisguised glee, because once again: Bats. _Assholes,_ all of them. "Oh my god, this is _amazing."_

"What?" Kyle asks, and his voice might crack a little, but Stephanie is too busy laughing at his pain and misfortune so hopefully she doesn't notice. _"What?_ What's so funny?"

"Nothing!" She giggles, waving her hand. "Nothing at all."

"I don't know if I feel safe right now," Kyle says dubiously.

"Oh no, it's fine," she says airily. "You have nothing to worry about from _me."_

And with those ominous words, she flips off onto the next house. Kyle allows himself five seconds to drop his face into his hands and bemoan the state of his life. Why. _Why?_

Despite Stephanie's insistent pestering on the sad state of his love life, they do manage to finish their part of the mission on schedule, dropping the kids off with a blue-haired girl that's obviously also a part of the Bat-Clan, and Kyle's wracking his head trying to remember if he should know her name as they head to the rendezvous point. The sky is starting to lift from its inky black to a pale blue by the time they settle on a rooftop with a view to the club that Jason and Dick and Roy should be exiting by now.

"They're fine," Stephanie says, probably – definitely – sensing Kyle's restless fidgeting from where she's leaning against his shoulder. She stifles another yawn, checking her watch. "They've been checking in the whole night. They're probably just a little behind on schedule or something."

"Yeah," Kyle agrees. "Probably," but it doesn't stop the pit of worry that opens in his chest. It's not that he _doubts_ them, it's just that he can still see the bruises splattered all across Roy's torso, the ginger way he's been holding himself, now that he thinks back to it. The scraped-red burns on Jason's flesh still left over from last time, and technically they're not even supposed to be fighting tonight but things _never_ work out the way that they should, not in this life.

The fact that it was so easy for _them,_ for Kyle and Steph, should've been the first sign that something might've gone wrong.

"It's fine," Stephanie tells him again, stifling another yawn. She checks the time again, and then she blows out a gusty sigh. "Probably."

"Probably?" Kyle turns to her. "What do you mean, probably?"

"I mean." She chews her lip. "They just missed their check-in, but…"

But nothing. That worry is starting to taste a lot like dread, like that sharp fear spreading through his chest and squeezing his heart in warning. In a _premonition,_ and Kyle gently pushes Stephanie away and takes to the air.

"Alright," he says. "Alright, I'm going in."

"Wait!" Stephanie scrambles up to follow him, and he's expecting her to ask him if he's sure, or tell him that he can't go. And he's getting ready to show her why it's a bad idea to argue with a Lantern – willpower is their _thing,_ after all – but she just sets her jaw in a stubborn line like she's expecting _him_ to tell her no and says, "I'm coming with you."


End file.
